in the end
by Cath1
Summary: And then, you find yourself in a stand off with a trained marksman. Another possible ending to series 9; sort of spoilers through to Ep9.4. Harry/Ruth.


in the end

Disclaimer: Weren't mine, aren't mine, won't be mine. Fact.

Summary: And then, you find yourself in a stand off with a trained marksman. Another possible ending to series 9; sort of spoilers through to Ep9.4. Harry/Ruth.

Notes: Because northernexposure's amazing (but depressing) 'Third Act' got me thinking about alternative endings. And because I'm too exhausted to do the work I'd brought home to do (oh well, that's what 8am office opening hours are for). And because this scene came into my head so I decided to go with it.

Reviews are always greatly appreciated.

XxX

The room is dark and cold when you enter, but that is not the reason you shiver. You feel the presence of someone else in the room, something is not quite right about the energy (you'd laugh if you heard yourself use that word at any other point) and you move your hand slowly against the wall to find the light switch. The wall is rough under your hand and makes a quiet noise, but is easily heard in the silence of the room. Your heart pounds harder in your chest as you struggle to find the switch and you fear that this can be heard too. Finally, your hand connects with the light switch and you try to control your breathing as you turn the light on.

You are not alone.

Lucas (John?) leans against a desk, head tilted to one side, looking almost relaxed. This could be any other day, any other meeting, and you train yourself not to look down at the gun he taps against his hand. If you don't see it, maybe you can survive this, act nonchalant.

"Ruth," he greets you, and even his voice doesn't waver, has no discernable sign of stress, sounds almost conversational.

"Lucas," you reply. Your voice, on the other hand, gives away every single ounce of fear that you feel, despite all your best efforts.

"I should have known it would be you," he says, and you wonder, for only a brief passing moment, whether this is a compliment.

Your mind works in overdrive as you debate the merits of feigning confusion or agreeing with him. The outcomes of both go round and round in your head until you are almost frozen with indecision. But even that is not an acceptable outcome.

"So what now?" you ask from somewhere that doesn't originate from your thoughts.

He laughs briefly, bitterly, and you know his answer before he's even vocalised it. "I'm sorry Ruth, I like you, but I can't allow you to know the truth. I can't risk you talking to Harry, or anyone else."

For some reason, your instincts to beg, demand mercy, convince him that you'll allow him to get away with this because you know that he was only acting for the greater good, to save Maya, even though, at some point, this became far more than that, all these instincts are overlooked. No, instead you stand there, heart racing, breath hitched at the back of your throat, and look him in the eye.

Maybe it's that you simply can't allow him to get away with this. Or maybe it's the comforting feel of cold metal pressing against your back, tucked in the waistband of your skirt like some Hollywood TV character, that gives you confidence. Probably the latter.

Almost in some perverse synchronicity, you reach for the gun you've acquired at the same time as he lifts his towards you. Slow movement, almost imperceptible, until your hand connects with the grip, and you pull it out quickly.

And then, you find yourself in a stand off with a trained marksman.

"Ever resourceful, I see," he comments, again, with a quick laugh, laced with an undertone of being impressed with you.

"I didn't intend to come down here without some sort of back up plan," you admit. It's not the strongest line, but courageous phrases about not planning to die, or quoting famous literature about the wisdom of forward thinking and the folly of early death easily prevented somehow elude you.

You wonder if you will have the courage to shoot before you getting shot. Or worse, if you shoot and miss.

The room is silent again, except for the sound of laboured inconsistent breathing (yours) and the drumming of your heart, now increased in tempo. It feels like hours and only the cold feeling of the gun in your hand, the knowledge that you need to be in control of it, grounds you. Somehow you manage to hold your hand steady; somehow the gun doesn't flutter around like you think it should be doing considering that everywhere else in your body feels on shaky ground.

And then, a miracle.

"Lucas, drop the gun," a voice, so familiar yet unexpected, commands, and you don't look round to see the origin because you know that it would be tantamount to suicide. You keep all your focus on the gun in your hand, fingers stretched against the metal, no longer quite so cold in the warmth of your grip.

Lucas does not respond.

"Or should I say John?" Harry asks, his voice slightly lighter now, but you can hear the tension in it.

Lucas looks away from you briefly, almost unnoticeably, but you can tell that his attention is diverted. Harry, too, can see this.

"Ah, yes, I know all about you, John. You see, we've been monitoring you for a while. In fact, we've got the whole building locked down, so you won't be able to escape, regardless of whether you kill everyone in this room or give yourself up. Personally, I'd recommend putting the gun down, but then I've never particularly enjoyed the prospect of a long internment in prison," Harry continues, almost conversationally. But you know better than this, you can almost hear his mind running three steps ahead of everyone else in the room, predicting outcomes and planning actions. You know, also, that while he appears to be indifferent to your situation, it's taking almost everything he has not to let his focus drift.

"How did you find out?" Lucas asks eventually. And then, a laugh of understanding, a nod in your direction. "Ruth. Of course." There's a pause. "I can't give myself up, Harry. You know that. I can't risk Maya and I can't risk myself." His gun never wavers, his focus even more intent on you and something in his features changes and you know that this is the moment when you have to act.

But you can't concentrate because you weren't trained for this and the thumping of your heart is overpowering your thoughts and you're no longer sure that you can even move your fingers because they've been too intent on remaining steady and not giving away your fear and it's all you can do not to cry out loud.

And then, gunfire, and everything turns to darkness.

XxX

"Ruth, you can let go of the gun now," a voice tells you gently through the dark fog of your mind.

Your focus returns, the darkness slowly clearing, and you realise that you're holding onto the gun so tightly that your whole body is shaking. "I'm not sure that I can," you reply. Your voice wavers, teeth chattering together and you're not even sure how you managed to vocalise a response.

You try to stabilise your breathing, but even that is a struggle. Instead you focus on other things: Beth in the room, standing over Lucas, Dimitri on the phone. Were they there all along? Harry stands a metre or so away from you, hesitantly moving towards you then stopping, unable to predict how you will react. You don't even know how you will react. Thoughts and reactions are beyond you.

"Is he..." you can't say the words at first. "Is he dead?" you ask Harry.

He shakes his head, "No."

"Oh," you reply. You stand there looking at Lucas' prone body, Beth holding something against his shoulder (didn't miss too badly, then, you think) where the blood eases through. She looks uncomfortable at this action, you think. Dimitri paces, talking rapidly on the phone, but you can't discern what he is saying.

The gun is still held out in front of you, jerking around as your body betrays you. Harry finally moves closer, places his hand over yours, and gently but firmly moves the gun downwards so it is no longer pointed – however unintentionally – at Beth. It's the first contact you've had with Harry in longer than you can remember, and you think it's odd that at this moment you can concentrate more on the warmth of his hand still on top of yours than you can think about what you've just done. And then, you look at Lucas again, and thoughts start to filter through. You shot him. Shot him. And suddenly, your hand releases the gun.

It drops to the floor with a clatter, thudding to a stop by your feet.

Your shaking begins in earnest. You shot Lucas. Shot Lucas. Shot Lucas. He nearly killed you and yet somehow you survived. You don't understand this. Lucas should have reacted quicker than you with your lack of training and your inability to hold a gun steady.

And then you realise. He wanted you to shoot him.

You exhale loudly, not quite a cry, and your legs give way but somehow you don't fall to the floor. Instead, you somehow move out of the room, not against your will but without conscious choice. Your inability to breathe worsens, quickens without being able to take proper breaths, until you gasp for air. You try to comprehend what just happened. But you can't. All you can think about is stopping your heart from pounding so heavily that it hurts and not feeling as though you are drowning on dry ground.

You realise that you're no longer even standing; instead you sit in an empty stairwell. But thoughts are fleeting through the panic, until your head is drawn to connect with something soft and you finally realise that you're not alone. That you've not been alone through all of this.

"Breathe Ruth," Harry tells you; he breathes with you until you finally fight the panic and start to relax.

And then, finally, you are somewhere nearer to being calm, and the drumming stops and the shivering stops and all you can concentrate on is the warmth of his hand holding yours.

XxX


End file.
